Fathers' Day
by Avon
Summary: Sometimes our fathers can't be what we want them to be, sometimes they aren't even who we think they are. This is set in Avonverse, which encompasses S1-S3 only.


CJ found Sam down in the canteen, at his favourite, almost-hidden, table. He was dipping apple slices into a jar of peanut butter and gazing listlessly at a propped up notebook.

"Hey," she said, sliding in beside him.

"Hey back," said Sam with something that could have passed for a smile.

For a moment, they both looked out across the almost empty canteen. Only a scattering of lights were on and less than a handful of tables were occupied. It was just before nine, usually still peak working time for the West Wing. On a normal Saturday evening, the canteen would still be a hub of activity but now it had as much buzz as a cheap included-with-the-toy battery at the end of Christmas day.

"Ever feel like you're the last ones left on the ghost ship?"

"Yep," Sam agreed. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Leo sent Josh to that delegates meeting in Kansas. Seems like everyone else has headed out of town for Fathers' Day."

CJ didn't answer for a few moments. She reached over and swiped one of his apple slices. When she did speak, she sounded defensive.

"With this Asian trade conference starting on Monday I'm snowed under. I really couldn't be out of town for a whole weekend and it wouldn't be worthwhile going so far for a day."

Sam nodded agreement while CJ stole another apple slice and the jar of peanut butter.

"I'm sure your dad is fine with it."

CJ finally turned and looked at him, rather than at the empty canteen.

"Oh, I'm sure he's very fine with it it's not like he's going to remember it's Father's Day."

She tried to smile, but it seemed even her muscles ached with guilt and regret. Can you be homesick for your childhood? Can you mourn a parent who is still alive? She tried to push the questions away most days until there was a chance reminder of what she no longer had. Now it was Father's Day and the conference was just an excuse to put off a trip she dreaded. CJ could forget what was happening to her father while she was working, but every time she went home, it was a body punch.

"That's got to be hard, Ceej. Sorry doesn't help, I guess."

"More than you know. More than pretending he doesn't exist any more or that everything's okay. My brother, he just wants it not to be there. He says he's tired or he didn't hear you or he was just joking around. For crying out loud, Sam, he doesn't remember it's _Fathers' Day_! I go home and he asks how softball practice was. I'll ring him tomorrow and we'll talk. Then he'll ask my mom is Claudia going to ring."

CJ pushed the jar away and clasped her hands together. She looked fixedly at them, her breath a little ragged. Sam just put his hand on her arm. For those few minutes, sitting in the deserted and half-darkened canteen, they both thought about fathers who had become someone else and about memories that hurt when they were all you had left.

CJ looked up first.

"I'm sorry, Spanky, you didn't need all of that. It's just a bad day for me."

"Hey," said Sam, grinning at her, "what are friends for? And can I have my peanut butter back?"

CJ gave him a gentle push, and then passed the jar back. She watched him scrape the sides of the jar, and then looked from him to the notepad with no more than a dozen doodles marking the page.

"You should go home," she said, gently.

Sam's head jerked up and he glared at her, suddenly looking much older.

"Which home?"

"Whoa, okay," said CJ, hands up in a blocking gesture.

His shoulders slumped and he looked down.

"I'm sorry - that wasn't fair. I've still got my dad even if it doesn't feel like it," he said, so quietly CJ strained to hear him.

"Life's not fair, Sam - and you don't have to be. The way things are with me and my dad doesn't make things better for you."

"It's just" he hesitated, struggling for words. "I can't be with him without being angry; without wanting to call him on all his lies. It doesn't go anywhere, though - he can't change what he did."

Sam crumbled the last of his apple slices to pieces.

"I sent him a card."

"That's good." The President stepped out of the shadows by the door. "He's your dad, Sam - no matter what. You don't have to forgive him yet - but you need to know that you can one day."

CJ and Sam shot to their feet, Sam catching the edge of the table as he did so. The peanut butter jar tipped and fell. It rolled across the floor to land at Bartlett's feet. He picked it up.

"Eaten all my peanut butter again, I see." Bartlet looked across and saw them still standing. "Sit down, sit down."

"Sir? Weren't you leaving for Manchester with the First Lady this morning?"

"Yep, I was. Got told my presence wasn't required until tomorrow morning."

Correctly interpreting the look on CJ's face as Oh-my-God-I'm-going-to-have-to-tell-the-nation-the-First-Lady-threw-him-out-on-Fathers'-Day, Bartlet grinned.

"No, CJ, nothing for you to worry about. It's my granddaughter Annie. Apparently, she's got plans - big plans. I've told her dad that he has to remember that he's on _my _team."

Bartlet pulled a chair over and sat with them.

"You know, you two should go home. I know it's hard to see your dad like this, Claudia Jean, but you should see him while you can. He might not know that you are missing his special day, but you do."

He paused. "I know that people who give advice are annoying, but then my wife would tell you that I became president just so no one could tell me to shut up will you go home for me, CJ? _If only_ and _I wish _make prickly bedfellows."

CJ blinked a little and sniffed before she smiled at him.

"Yes, sir." The grin she gave him this time was cheekier. "I serve at the pleasure of the President."

"Good girl." Bartlet pulled a plane ticket out of his breast pocket. "The plane leaves at 11. They're holding a seat for you."

Acknowledging CJ's thanks with a nod, he turned to Sam.

"No one's dad is perfect, Sam. I think we grow up when realise that. When we're little we want our dad to be our hero I know I did. When you have your children, you'll try to be a better dad than your own father was. I'm sure you'll succeed, but I'm telling you, you'll find it hard. I've never repeated my father's mistakes, but I've made plenty of my own."

"Yes, sir," Sam said quietly; they could both hear the anger still there, though.

Bartlet studied him for a moment then put a hand on his arm.

"I'm not asking you to go home, son - just to remember that you can forgive him one day."

Sam looked up for a minute and bit his lip. It wasn't easy letting go of his anger; anger makes a good wall to hide behind from things that hurt. He knew it wasn't solving anything though - and no matter how angry he let himself get, he couldn't block out everything his father had meant to him. It wasn't that he hated him; it was that he wanted to hate him. Sam nodded and sighed an okay. He sounded as though he meant it this time.

"Good. Now, I've given Charlie some tickets to take Deanna and a couple of her friends to that new musical tomorrow. I think he might like some male company to help balance the giggles - will you go with him for me, Sam?"

Sam breathed out; feeling like several weights had lifted off him. He wasn't very good at hate and trying to keep the anger at his father had begun to eat away at him. He couldn't forgive him or pretend it didn't matter that his life had been a lie - but the President was right, he _could _say 'I'll forgive him one day' and mean it.

Tomorrow, too, he wouldn't need to sit in his office pretending he needed to work while counting over all the people who had gone home to the sort of families he had thought he had. He'd have people to spend the day with who'd need him, and who would never know that there was any reason they should feel sorry for him.

"It'll be a pleasure, Mr President."

Bartlett got to his feet and CJ and Sam rose with him.

"Well, since all my rightful peanut butter and apples have been eaten, I guess I better go and see if the White House chefs will feed me. I'll see you two on Monday."

"Goodnight, Mr President" chorused behind him as Jed Bartlet headed back up the stairs. He smiled as he and his security team emerged back into the light. Goodness only knew what Annie had planned for him, but now he could go and enjoy it knowing that his other children were okay.


End file.
